


dynasty decapitated

by finkpishnets



Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: Character Study, Multi, Post-Season/Series 02, Trust and Vows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: The thing about Tundra, the thing that’s easy to forget in the face of Hamish’s charm and lopsided smiles, his cocktails and sharp tailoring and witty self-deprecation, is that Tundra?Tundra’s the cunning one.
Relationships: Hamish Duke/Vera Stone, Lilith Bathory/Randall Carpio/Hamish Duke/Jack Morton, Randall Carpio/Hamish Duke
Comments: 19
Kudos: 343
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen





	dynasty decapitated

**Author's Note:**

> so i had [a lot of feelings about season two, especially in regards to hamish and his characterisation](https://madroxed.tumblr.com/post/621340888812109824/the-order-season-two-thoughts). this is me trying to make sense of that a little.
> 
> feat. canon hamish/vera and hints at hamish/randall (and knights poly because always) but not actually shippy per se.

**~**

The thing about Tundra, the thing that’s easy to forget in the face of Hamish’s charm and lopsided smiles, his cocktails and sharp tailoring and witty self-deprecation, is that Tundra? 

Tundra’s the cunning one.

**~**

He stands by Vera’s side, reads everything he can get his hands on, and keeps his mind sharp.

It’s fascinating stuff; there’s so much lore he couldn’t before even _begin_ to fathom, and Hamish and Tundra both take to it with all the relish of the starved. He learns and learns some more, scouring grimoires and maps and weapons lockers until his eyes are too tired to stay open.

He hands Vera a drink and waits until he’s called upon.

**~**

When he sleeps, he sees Lilith’s gaze, dark and betrayed.

He sees Timber, cool and assessing, rage threaded tight right beneath the surface.

 _Mine_ , he thinks and forces himself awake.

**~**

“Who even _are_ you?” Randall asks, and Hamish digs his nails into his palms to stop himself reaching out.

“You were given a job,” he says, and pretends he doesn’t feel the ache of Randall’s hurt down to his bones.

Tundra hears Greybeard’s lost moans, and thinks, _mine, mine, mine_.

**~**

“They’re all idiots,” Vera says, throwing her shirt across the room. “How they can string a simple incantation together is beyond me.”

“The bane of the teacher,” Hamish says with a sardonic smirk. He rubs at her shoulders, careful not to press too hard, and she groans, melting under his hands. 

It’s quiet tonight. Just the two of them and a desk full of crude sketches of half-forgotten pentagrams. There are six unread text messages on his phone from Randall and one he’s almost curious to read from Gabrielle. Jack hasn’t been in touch, but then he’s busy enough with his own problems.

“You’re good at that,” Vera says.

“Magic fingers,” he says, and sets to turning her unimpressed groan into one far more appreciative.

**~**

“Lilith…” Randall says, and Tundra wants to wrap him close, hold him until he stops smelling of despair and loneliness. Wants to take Greybeard into the woods and _run, run, run_ , until they’re breathless, hearts keeping time with the thrill of the hunt.

Hamish wants to buy him a beer and sit close on their beaten-up couch telling stupid stories until Randall remembers how to laugh.

“Later,” they say instead (for the fifth, tenth, a hundredth time).

**~**

Midnight chooses Gabrielle.

Honestly, Midnight’s never been picky, but this seems a little desperate until Tundra realizes he plans to kill Silverback.

That makes a lot more sense.

It can’t happen, of course, but at least Midnight’s back on the playing field now.

Given time, Tundra suspects Gabrielle could even be a good host.

(He’s counting on it.)

**~**

The world almost ends (and doesn’t) and they get Lilith back (and don’t).

It’s not a win, but even under the dark, filthy stench of demon dimension, Tundra can hear Timber’s beating heart.

It’ll do.

**~**

Midnight isn’t meant to act out.

Alyssa isn’t meant to die.

Jack isn’t meant to collapse, soaked in her blood, nothing but broken sobs.

Silverback isn’t meant to cry so painfully inside his mind.

It shouldn’t have happened, but it has.

Hamish takes Vera’s hand and holds on tight.

**~**

“I quit,” Randall says.

“No you don’t,” Hamish says, narrowing his eyes.

He’s expecting another argument, the one that feels scripted by now.

He doesn’t expect Randall’s calm defeat, a surety it’s easy to forget he possesses amidst the easy-go-lucky exterior. 

He doesn’t expect him to _mean it_.

“No,” he says, a hint of desperation seeping through, and Greybeard catches it even if Randall doesn’t.

“You’re my family, dude,” Randall says, all Randall, meant for Hamish. “But I won’t stay here. Lilith needs me. _Jack_ needs me.” 

_Needs us_ , he means and he’s right, of course he’s right, but he can’t know that’s not all there is.

“Alright,” he says, and it’s the hardest thing Tundra’s had to do in centuries.

(The hardest thing Hamish has ever done, watching the proud line of Randall’s shoulders as he stands his ground.)

**~**

“So much for my protectorate of wolves,” Vera says, rolling her eyes. 

She’s angry but not enough to attempt punishment. She may not have her power but Hamish would never mistake her for power _less_.

“You’ve still got me,” he says, smooth charm and laden innuendo, and Vera smirks, running her foot up the seam of his pants.

“True,” she says, dragging the word out. Her lipstick is the shade of freshly spilt blood and she smells of someone else’s magic. “Not _terrible_ compensation.”

He grins, leaning down over her, his breath disturbing a strand of hair that falls across her eyes. “I aim to please.”

“You certainly do,” she says.

Later, when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, the transference of Scarlet Rose stained across his chin looks just like the trophy of a fresh kill.

**~**

“I can’t make it _work_ ,” Jack says. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten, hasn’t done anything besides stare at that godawful grimoire.

Silverback is practically dormant.

“It’ll be okay,” Hamish says, and means it as a promise.

**~**

“What are you doing here?” Randall asks, arms crossed, stance spread as if Hamish (Tundra; Hamish- _and_ -Tundra) were ever a threat to them.

Garbrielle’s sat on the edge of the couch, still uneasy with Midnight settled under her skin.

Jack’s dozing in the armchair, clearly so exhausted his body betrayed him, clutching the book he sees as his only lifeline.

Lilith and Nicole are pressed close near the window, Lilith’s eyes still glazed over as Nicole keeps an arm around her shoulders, unable or unwilling to let go yet.

“I need a reason?” Hamish says, slipping back into old habits, and Randall snorts, unkindly.

Hamish isn’t used to Randall doing _anything_ unkindly.

(Murder doesn’t count.)

“Stop,” he says, and Randall’s shoulders drop a fraction before he remembers himself.

“You chose _them_ , remember? You chose _her_. You don’t belong here.”

Randall doesn’t even realize how cruel those words are, _couldn’t_ realize.

Hamish (Tundra; Hamish- _and_ -Tundra) is moving before he can stop himself, gripping Randall’s chin in his fingers and twisting until they’re eye to eye, close enough to bruise.

“Don’t _ever_ think that you’re not _mine_ ,” he says, sharp as splintered glass.

Greybeard whimpers under his touch.

Around the room he _feels_ them, Silverback pressing close to the surface in confusion, Timber jagged and angry but never broken, and Midnight quietly processing until he finally _gets it_.

“Oh,” Gabrielle says in quiet awe. He knew she’d fit in well.

Randall’s still watching him with wide eyes, and Hamish knows that when he finally steps back, Randall will have his fingerprints bruised into his skin for the briefest of seconds. In that moment he’s never wanted anything more.

“Okay,” Randall says, little more than a whisper. No more questions. Looking into Hamish’s (Tundra’s; Hamish- _and_ -Tundra’s) eyes and seeing all the things Hamish hasn’t let him see for such a long time and trusting him like he once did (like he always should). 

Easy as pie.

Greybeard’s always been fearless, after all.

**~**

“Where have you been?” Vera asks, mouth pressed into a sharp line, suspicion dancing at the corners of her eyes.

He really does respect her immensely.

“Sorry, dear,” he says, inserting just enough sarcasm to make it acceptable. Vera scoffs but her lips quirk upwards, just the tiniest tick. “Unfortunately it occurred to me I’m still enrolled here. I was cutting more than a few deadlines horribly close.”

“Sometimes I forget this is a school,” she says, and he knows he’s forgiven. “Let’s see if we can make you forget, too.”

“Yes,” he says, and thinks of Randall and Lilith and Jack. Of Greybeard and Silverback and Timber and Midnight. Of the flutter of Randall’s eyelashes when Hamish had taken his chin in hand, and the freedom of knowing they finally understood, at least enough to believe it when he claimed them ( _always, always, ALWAYS_ ). “Let’s.”

**~**

They said they were going to burn the Order to the ground.

Tundra’s always enjoyed a long-con.

**Author's Note:**

> come spill all your thoughts about this messy, wonderful show at me [on tumblr](https://madroxed.tumblr.com/).


End file.
